


Danger Is Her Middle Name

by leiascully



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Danger, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:20:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For River Song, danger is the spice of life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Danger Is Her Middle Name

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: N/A  
> A/N: Because River would be an excellent gladiator, and because I desperately need to catch up on Kink Bingo.  
> Disclaimer: _Doctor Who_ and all related characters are the property of Russell T. Davies, Stephen Moffat, and BBC. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

One thing never changes: River loves danger. She loves it down to her bones, down to the very core of herself. She goes looking for any fight within a hundred-year radius, just for the rush of adrenaline. She absolutely craves the excitement, and it isn't limited to a heightened state of awareness, either. Nothing gets her hot and bothered faster than the imminent threat of mayhem and violence. Give her a battle and she'll be looking for a bunk afterwards. There's no greater aphrodisiac than triumph over peril.

When she comes across the half-incapacitated Nightmare Creature prowling the grounds of her dig site, she just can't resist. It will die eventually - there's plenty of sulfur on this planet, which will poison it slowly, but in the meantime it's a danger to her and her team. It's only kind that she puts it out of its misery quickly. Or moderately quickly, anyway, which is _much_ more fun for her. She holsters her gun and picks up a long-handled shovel. It snaps and snarls, trying to change shape, but she can tell its system is already compromised. 

"Oh, please, you're nowhere near my worst nightmare," she challenges it. "Come on, if you think you're hard enough."

It lunges, swiping at her with a tentacle with a hook on the end. She blocks the hook with the metal bit of the shovel and then chops at the tentacle. The creature starts bleeding, gouts of blood that immediately evaporate into smoke. River grins and takes up her ready stance, balanced for the next attack. Even wounded, it's still immensely powerful. It nearly wrests the shovel from her grasp more than once. She could end it quickly with a shot between the eyes, but she refuses - this way it's a fair fight, and one she's planning on winning. It isn't any fun at all if there's no chance she could lose.

The creature attacks and she whacks it again, so hard that the shovel's vibrations ring all the way up her arms. It's fast, but not fast enough, and though it's stronger than she is, it never had much of a chance of being as clever. Even so, dealing with it this way is a risk, and one she's enjoying. She revels in the smooth strong lines of her arms and the way her body absorbs the shock of impact when she hits the creature, or the rare moment it hits her. She relishes each potential bruise. She jumps over a pseudopod flung at her ankles and brings down the shovel with a nice resounding smack which makes her spine tingle. 

She might go so far as to say she's getting off on it - certainly there's a sleek, heady pleasure at the way her body responds. Every move she makes is the right one. Her blood rushes through her veins, every part of her body alert. She feels preternaturally alive, as if she's on some other level of existence far above her everyday life. Each time the creature engages, she's there to counter it. She is invincible. She is River Song, destroyer of worlds. She will not be overcome. 

It takes nearly half an hour by her reckoning, but finally the wounded creature makes its fatal mistake. She puts it out of the misery with one last blow from the shovel. 

"Sweet dreams," she tells the corpse as it vanishes.

She's standing there catching her breath, grinning at her victory, when she hears the whoosh of the TARDIS. The Doctor peers out the door.

"River?"

"Hello, sweetie," she calls. Endorphins make her knees weak and her voice husky, or maybe that's her husband's presence. "I appreciate the effort, but I didn't really need backup. All taken care of now."

"I wasn't coming to be backup," he tells her, stepping out of the TARDIS. "I was on my way to Ganymede. The TARDIS brought me here instead."

"Clever girl," River says to the TARDIS. She's almost dizzy: the adrenaline of the fight is turning into desire.

"Honestly, I don't know why I bother to put in coordinates," the Doctor grumbles. "It isn't as if it makes a bit of difference to the navigation systems." He glares at the TARDIS. 

"She always brings you where you need to be," River tells him. She flings herself at him and he catches her, grunting at the impact of their bodies. Before he can scold her, she shuts his mouth with a ferocious kiss. He kisses her back in a daze at first, and then with increasing passion and fervency.

"I see," he says. "Yes, definitely where I need to be." 

"Shut up, sweetie," River says, and pushes him into the TARDIS. She has his coat off before they're through the control room. She has his waistcoat off by the time they're in the corridor. She has his bow tie undone and his shirt open by the time they reach the first door, which happens to be the library. And by the time she finds the nearest chaise longue, she has his hands in his trousers. His hands are all over her, stroking and squeezing until she thinks she'll go mad. 

"Boots," she commands, pushing him down. 

"You've been fighting, haven't you?" he asks, fumbling at his laces. "You always kiss like this when you've been fighting." 

"And I don't hear you complaining," she points out, tugging off her own boots.

"Oh, I'm not complaining," he says smugly. "It solves quite a number of problems, really."

"One of the many benefits of having your own bespoke psychopath," she says airily. "And by having, I mean thoroughly shagging."

"More than a little pushy today, Doctor Song," he tells her, naked at long last. She pulls down the zip of her dress and unhooks her bra as he leans back on the chaise longue, watching her.

"Well," she says, "it isn't every day I fend off a Nightmare Creature all on my own with a shovel."

"Ridiculously dangerous," he tells her, his eyes appreciative as she steps out of her knickers.

"Just the way I like it," she says. 

"Well aware," he says, reaching for her hips as she climbs on top of him. "I'm just glad you haven't yet figured out a way to incorporate the danger into the thorough shagging."

"Haven't I?" she asks, straddling him. He slides his fingers between her thighs and she pushes her hips against his hand. She can feel how slick she is against his fingers. "We could start slow - somewhere someone might catch us at any minute. That's a bit dangerous, wouldn't you say? We could go to an ice planet and make love to stay warm. We could find a room with an oxygen leak. We could tether ourselves to the TARDIS and float in the air shell. Oooh, or a pit and the pendulum scenario? We could...."

"All right," he says hastily. "This will do." She reaches down to hold him steady, guiding him into her, and he groans. "Oh yes, this will do nicely." 

She sinks down onto him slowly, letting him fill her up, letting her body adjust around him. Every lightning strike of adrenaline has changed to lust, but the thrill is still lighting her up all over. She's close to begging for him to touch her even with him inside her, but he seems to know just what to do. He puts one hand around the back of her neck and tangles his fingers in her curls, dragging her down for a rough kiss as his other hand squeezes her breast and pinches at her nipple. She moans into his mouth, desperate and grateful and demanding. 

Fucking the Doctor is nearly as exciting as fighting off an army, even if she hasn't yet convinced him that the threat of bodily harm would add just the right touch. The thought of sharing that with him makes her even wetter than before. She presses herself against him and grinds down until he gasps. She nudges at his face until he turns his head. 

"Kiss me later," she whispers, nipping at his earlobe. He tries to kiss her again but she sits up, balancing over his hips. 

"You ought to have been a gladiator," he tells her, his eyes hooded with need.

"Well, my love," she says, "when you're emperor of all worlds, I'll be your champion, and battle for your pleasure." She pauses. "And mine, obviously."

"I'm not sure this body will take the strain of the victory celebrations," he teases, reaching to flick her clit. She braces one hand in the center of his chest and leans forward to slap him lightly. He grins at her. 

"I'm not the only adrenaline addict," she reminds him. "You're as much a fighter as a lover."

"But not concurrently," he says. "So are you going to celebrate or not?"

She straightens up again, pushing her hands into her hair and stretching luxuriously as she begins to ride him, just to prove that she can. He groans as she rises and falls, his hips rolling under hers. His eyes are glued to her, reflecting the same hunger she feels. The tension grows between them as they watch each other, every glance a challenge and a recognition. Pleasure sparks along her nerves until her skin feels like it's crackling. She could do this forever. 

She will give him the most of herself, the best of herself, until neither of them can stand it any longer. There is danger in that too, though less physical than her usual fare. He reaches out for her, stroking every part of her he can reach. His fingers glance off her nipples as she moves and trace paths of fire down her belly. Every caress drives her mad. His hands settle on her hips, holding her down against him, and she likes pushing against his hold, a gentle sort of fighting.

"River," he gasps, her name half a prayer and half a warning. 

"Never fear, sweetie," she says. "Touch me." 

He fumbles for her clit, momentarily clumsy with lust, but his fingers are unerring and extremely experienced. He knows exactly where to touch her, and how: the fire building between her thighs roars through her body at his caress. She moans loudly, undone, and he groans in response. She can feel her thighs tensing. Her cunt is heavy, tight around him, and she grinds down on him even further. He thrusts up into her and her back arches as she takes him in, always wanting deeper, more, faster, harder. He thrusts up and she pushes down and the chaise shivers under them, but she can't stop. She won't stop. She wants him and she wants to see him come and she fights for control as her blood turns molten and her world implodes. 

She is swept along by the strength of her climax, her body shuddering. He yelps, and she knows he's close to following her over the edge.

"Don't stop," he begs. 

"No chance," she gasps, gripping him with her knees. Her spine sways as the aftershocks hit her, but she won't relinquish the chance of a second orgasm. He holds her hips hard enough to ache just a bit and pounds up into her. She relishes every second of it, wide open for him. She touches her own breasts, sliding her hands over her tingling nipples, and he watches her breathlessly as his eyes glaze over. A few more powerful thrusts and he's coming, his face contorting, his hips jolting under her. She presses down against him, soaking up the shivers of his body, letting them rattle through her oversensitive nerves until she's coming again, shouting out her pleasure.

She collapses against him, raising her hips carefully to let him slide out. Their chests rise and fall unevenly. 

"I'm going to look into this gladiator idea," the Doctor says, his hands tangled in her hair again. "You've made an extremely compelling case for my keeping you well-supplied with stupidly dangerous situations."

River chuckles, still shuddering a little as aftershocks flicker through her. "Shall I wear leather?"

"Would you?" the Doctor says eagerly. 

"Shut up," she says.


End file.
